


One More Time

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Regression/De-Aging, Broken Family, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Nameless Original Character - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Oneshot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Written in Second Perspective, undiagnosed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “If you returned in time, back to year 2005, what would you do?”“...I have new ideas to ruin my life.”A story about a woman given a chance to return back in time and her self-destruction.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous, anonymous





	One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> **FOREWARNING: The following story contains triggering topics that will make you sick and rage as it tackles the tags mentioned. For any survivor who might read this story, I do not mean to offend you in any way, I do not presume to know what you are going through that is why I hope you do not hate me for what I have written.**
> 
> If any of these tags is triggering for you, **please go back,** there is no shame in going back because all these tags are tied too much in the story.
> 
>  **Author’s note:** This is another story perspective experiment I did, from fandom fanfiction story format like diary entries, to five times + 1, etcetera (I lost count actually), to rare pairings, to SIOC and finally to this, it seems I'm doomed to always experiment on my stories.  
> That's also why this story will be too triggering as I used Second Point of View, a nameless **‘You’**.
> 
>  **FOREWARNING(2):** I repeat this story contains a **long period of child sexual abuse, child sexual harrassment, sexual harrassment, pedophilic older men including OC's father, implied self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, unhealthy coping mechanism, stockholm syndrome, self-hate, self-worth issues, self-destruction, and additional warning tags added.**
> 
> This story is fucked up and not for the faint of heart, **please go back** if the tags mentioned and the warnings might trigger you. Also do not read this story if you are having a bad day as it would only cause you to spiral down. Only read this when you think you could stomach something like this.
> 
> If at this point you still aren’t deterrent despite the multiple warnings, _then on your head so be it._
> 
> Without further ado, here is a oneshot story about a woman given a chance to return back in time and her self-destruction.

**“If you returned in time, back to year 2005, what would you do?”**

**.**

**.**

**.**

You had no idea what happened, at all. You went back to sleep the previous night with the last Facebook post you shared. Then you find yourself back in time; waking up on the rough hard mattress as the light from the open window brightened your retinas. A very pleasant thing to be awoken to.

Your back was sore, there was cacophony of birds outside and there was still light coming from your right. _Which...what the fuck?_ When did the location of your window go from your feet to your right? But you discarded that thought and focused on the most important part that you were still sleepy, groggy with a blasted dizziness as you had been surfing the net at 2 AM even though you had to work—

_Fuck._

_You gotta get up fast, bitchy self!_

You sat up ramrod straight; dizziness, sleepiness forgotten because you didn’t know what time it was but you have to get up pronto because there was light and you’re going to be late.

_Noooo!_

You wailed inside your mind, imagining the penalty you’ll end up paying for being late and the workload that must be piling right now.

You were momentarily confused why you were on a mattress but you were hurrying so you discarded that thought away. It felt like you were running out of time so you decided to forego showering and focused on finding your blasted phone.

On a related note your hands were tiny and skinny. Which was ignored.

You grew annoyed at your fruitless effort that you turned around towards the desk for the wall clock only to find a drawer with huge and multiple bags beside it.

_...Eh?_

This was not the same view back on your room.

_But isn’t this the view from your old home?_

You blinked repeatedly, waiting for the hallucination to go away. Yet you were still facing it that you could only conclude one thing.

_Ah... So you are in a dream._

You closed your eyes, with a tense shoulder lifted your head up, and closed your eyes even tighter knowing of the horrific imagery you would eventually see. Even if you didn’t want to open it, you had to, you would always do.

You were met by the stainless roof above, seeing punctured holes on it. It reminded you that it would drip water during the rainy season.

The view was anti-climatic and you could hear distinct clunking noise from somewhere, probably the kitchen. This scene took you back on your earlier memories.

You took comfort on these jumbled scenes inside your head yet still feeling your heart thudding while you brace yourself for a jumpscare once you look down.

_Better bow now than never._

But when you did, only the floor greeted.

You sighed, relieved that you wouldn’t wake up with a silent scream trapped in your throat after the last grotesque scene from a horror movie appeared on your sight in this same spot.

_Still...this is weird._

Your confusing thoughts resurfaced.

You were still not seeing the trigger to be awoken after this hallucination.

_What is going on?_

You wanted to look around to find the answer but you still fear staring in a new direction. You really _really_ couldn’t take horror movies, definitely jump scare because they freak you shitless like now.

“Y/N, get up and eat breakfast! It’s already eight in the morning.”

You jumped with an eep, immediately turning towards the direction of the voice like a thief caught red-handed and that’s when you realized you were now facing an ajar door.

The door from your old room.

Your mind was blank as you tried to contemplate what was happening. You heard your aunty calling for you, you were back in your old room…

You covered your mouth and your eyes widened, finally realizing how small your hands were.

You could only stare at it as the implication hit you.

 _Is this... Did you time-travel back to the past?_ You couldn’t help but conclude as you cursed under your breath. There must be no way this was legitly happening to _you_ of all people around the world or whatever. You couldn’t possibly be back in time because you... you didn’t deserve this chance at all.

_Why?_

You shook your head. It was no time to be contemplating and panicking because your priority was to get to the kitchen where your aunty was.

If this was reality or a dream then so be it. If the first then... Well, there were new ideas to test and you had to really think what you would do plus information gathering. If the latter, well, it was no big deal. You would just wake up emotionally exhausted with no will to live and be the waste of breath you really were; like you always do when dreaming about your childhood.

For the mean time you were walking towards the kitchen with long grown familiarity. This was still home no matter how much you had been through on these same walls.

“Good morning, aunty!”

You uncertainly walked towards her but on the last second you decided to hell with it and just go for it. You leaped towards her huge frame and embraced her with your feeble arms landing with an oomph and startling her.

She turned around and fully returned the embrace. Because that’s how awesome she was and she was smiling at you.

“Good morning too, sweetie.”

You beamed and nuzzled against her bosom and both of you were hugging each other and swaying side by side excitedly.

It was childish but it felt like _home_.

You never saw her fat again like this. It reminded you that you prefer hugging her when she wasn’t skinny and stressed by everything. And so warm that she could cover your whole body in a tight embrace.

You eventually let go and went to the table, hands reaching towards the thermos you could barely reach considering you were only a head taller than it. Before you could grab anything you heard your aunt calling you out to drink the water already on the mug. You glanced at it and made a pinched face.

_Ewww…_

You could already see the chipped bits of the thermos at the bottom but you reluctantly took it before sipping the warm water. It soothed your throat. You didn’t realize how parched you were until you had something warm trickling down and _wow that’s kinky_ , that you coughed on your hand.

You peered under the table, took a monoblock then sat on it with difficulty.

You idly wondered if you were already learning how to cook, doing chores, and helping around the house by this time.

You didn’t know the year but you remember your early years and you used to prepare your grandmother’s drink in the morning. Copying her when she breaks chocolate biscuits and dumping it on cereal or chocolate-milk drinks.

“Aunty, what do we have for breakfast? Can I have Grandma’s cereal drink too?”

You know you were being picky because there was bread and powdered coffee on the table yet you still asked for variety. You didn’t want to make coffee like you used to in your memories–two spoons of coffee and one tablespoon of sugar, dunking bread after you poured hot water so it would be easier to eat. Because your stomach couldn’t take it anymore especially with the hyper-acidity you have for all the missed meals you did back in university and even now at work.

“I’m still cooking the rice and will reheat the leftover fish from yesterday night. But Grandma already ate so don’t give her any more ideas! She’s already buying powdered choco-milk and biscuits. We don’t want her getting used to not eating a complete meal in the morning, you hear me?” She gave you a stern look and you straightened up and answered an affirmative like an obedient soldier.

Unintentionally, you got information that your Grandma was not hooked yet with cereal drinks which put you further back in your time.

You could barely remember when exactly cereal drinks became her favorite. It’s probably before middle school. You gazed around you absent-mindedly, refamiliarizing with the surrounding.

Everything looked clean and there were decorations even curtains you didn’t remember until they were staring right at you.

However, eventually understanding dawn on you.

This house was when they were still well-off. A small business that hadn’t died yet due to lack of capital or too much expenses by her husband’s hand. When your aunt could afford a birthday celebration with a feast and massive visitors from town.

 _This is going to be...difficult._ Because it looked like it was the time where only impactful memories were remembered and the others were blurry or forgotten.

You weren’t in middle school yet, probably not even going to start middle school for a year or two.

You looked back to your aunty and you realized that she was wearing a floral patterned dress. She almost never wore those.

She moved to the side and you could see her side view and your eyes widened with abrupt realization.

She used to wear dresses in your very early childhood but only when she was...pregnant.

_...Oh._

Your eyes took a dull tone to it.

These evidence were already in front of you. There was no mistaking it now. She was pregnant, and you didn’t feel the bump because you thought it was belly fats.

Your aunty was pregnant and you were... 7 years old, _a grade schooler_. You were further back in time!

It was when you were making stupid life choices. You were silent, like a poster child of the town, women and store lady complimented you; for being obedient, for running errands that you used to write on papers so you would not forget.

You were shy, innocent, chubby faced and tanned from being out on the sun at 12 noon.

You were money hungry because you wanted to buy food and toys you couldn’t afford from your meagre allowance.

That’s why you were stealing money from your grandma when she wasn’t looking. To make more money, you were helping your other blood relatives on harvesting vegetables. It was a pain to rub off the stains on your hands that you would cleanse your hands with kitchen oil if you go to school the next day.

You had a lot of memories of your childhood; broken, blurred, and voiceless scenes that you pierced together. But these were the extent of what you could remember.

These were the few memories that weren’t bad.

Everything else was horrible.

From the male store owner that fawn over you; gave you candies and pennies in exchange by being touched with their wrinkled hands on the chest and face that started from grade school to middle school. To the neighbor who asked for his lips on your cheek in exchange of money when you were alone on their mini forest-garden as a farewell during your middle school days. To the sexual harassment and nearly kidnapping by a stranger because you were being nice to him which happened in middle school. To the wandering sticky hands and smelly breath of your uncle everywhere on your body you had known until your high—

 _Stop, focus._ You inhaled through your mouth, willing your heart to stop pounding and your mind to stop reminiscing detailed horrible memories.

You shakily exhaled.

Now, you were 7 years old once more and given the chance to make decisions. Or maybe you couldn’t, and you’ll be forced to watch as you were being abused and used by all old male you knew.

Or maybe you could make a change?

For your own betterment? _Hah! That is laughable._

And yet…

 _You have choices._ You were given a lot of choices, a chance and this...was not a luxury at all but a suffering in the making.

This time was that time, the crucial part of your life where you were given a choice.

_To ruin or to ruin._

And you...you already know the answer to that.

Because all this time, through all these years you had always wondered.

If you made your life harder. You would not experience the newfound freedom.

If you made your life harder then you wouldn’t hope and your trust wouldn’t be broken again.

If you had taken that leap of faith and skived off the bridge…

_Will you still be alive today?_

**.**

**.**

**.**

Sunday and weekdays come and go ever so slowly. It was excruciating, exhausting and exponentially taxing. You couldn’t concentrate on anything.

You continued wondering. After all you were given the chance to see through the morbid curiosity you had always been thinking about.

Yet you also didn’t want it to happen. Because you know it would hurt. You would hurt a lot.

But you had already been hurt before, you were already deeply scarred. You were already 7, and it already happened. It would be the same, it would not make any difference.

You try to convince yourself that it was alright to go through with your ideas, that you had nothing to lose than you already did. You would lose even more if you remained alive.

You had already imagined this panning out, that you became a seductress, a mistress, a home-wrecker at a young age of your own volition. You would purposely tighten the noose around your neck, and in doing so would bind you to your predator.

Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, but at the same time it was not. You held a grudge against your abuser and you wanted to ruin his life, his family, like he had ruined yours.

Your life was in ruin, had already been, even before you stepped on this land. If you had to destroy yourself to ruin his, it was a proper exchange.

 _Better now than later._ The outcome was still the same.

If destroying yourself by your own hands was the price, if taking the matter on your own was the way for revenge then so be it. After all, you had nothing to lose again.

And then, when you attained it; when everyone you knew would look at you, would really look at how shameless and dirty you were. How they would look at you seeing a murderer not a victim and with hate on their eyes for killing the head of the family.

Then you would eventually kill yourself. To run far away from everything and finally be at peace; knowing your uncle was dead, accepting that no one could ever accept you, and understanding you had nothing to hold on.

You had envisioned it every day, almost obsessively in your teenage rebellious years. Where hatred kept making you hold on, you had always faulted two people; him and you.

It was fitting and your vindictive heart held onto this fantasy.

You ruined his life and ruined yours even more. A poetic justice for a useless worthless you. A fitting end for a good fuck like you.

Of course, you ended up never going through it. Not even close. Because you were a coward. You couldn’t even voice out the truth. You remained silent and the anger in your heart kept growing that you would hurl hurtful things to your little cousin, the daughter of your perverted uncle.

Because you could, it eased your heart, and it made you feel in control.

That child, coddled by her father. You kept saying hurtful things to her, let your temper run, be mean to her until she cried, and even though there was guilt on your heart you felt it was vindictively right. She had everything, and you had nothing. You should be coddled too by his father and instead he coddled you differently for his own pleasure.

Still you tried being decent to her because she was a child, she didn’t do anything wrong.

You took care of her, you tried to curb your words around her. It wasn’t her fault the blood of a pedophile ran through her veins.

But your heart was filled with hate, and guilt, and hate, and loneliness, and hate. You were a mere speck of dirt on their happy family of three. _You are a waste of space, of resources._

You shouldn’t be here. That’s why they didn’t need to know. Your aunt, your cousin, your relatives, they didn’t need to know. You would bury the secret to your grave, until you ran away, until you killed yourself without bothering anyone.

_You are the fault._

You had nothing left to lose. You didn’t want to attain hope then lose it.

But once again, you were a coward; couldn’t even slit your wrist properly, hang or drown yourself, jump off the building, jump on the road, jump off a bridge, anything to kill yourself.

You had always been a coward.

And now you wonder, you shouldn’t have been a coward because choosing to survive was a mistake.

Misfortune seemed to follow you. Even when you left– _ran away like a coward you are_ –given a chance to further your studies with a shaking heart and nerves haywiring on your skin. Saw hope in a new place and started a new beginning with your other relatives in the city, to finally get your wish to spend time with your parents–even though they abandoned you in that hellhole.

_A big mistake._

You should have killed yourself when you were a teenager because if you did, then your trust wouldn’t be broken once more and by your own father.

...

As a budding adult, you didn’t fear him, you liked him but it changed when you started living with him. Just the two of you.

He had always been nice, a good father when you talk with each other, with everyone else. But you should have put your guard up. You should have listened to your gut, paranoia, distrust. But you didn’t.

When you met him again just as you were starting a new beginning, he made your skin crawl from his presence alone.

You thought you merely had to get used to it; that since no older men treated you right that he made you instantly uncomfortable, that it was only because of your fear of older men that made you feel like that, that it was just mild PTSD that your father looked like your uncle on that first meeting.

You rationalized that even if he was your father, you see him as an older man firstly and you spent the previous years–a decade–fearing older and adult men.

At first, it had rattled you; unknowing what to do, confused, and lost because he was your father.

You asked for advice from...–You asked for advice.

And you were assured because the answer was the same as yours, you had to test the water to see if your father was really a good man. If he was, your fear of older men would eventually no longer apply to him.

Your father tried to visit every chance he could, probably to take back the lost time he missed. Eventually you warmed up to him. He took you to his relatives in different parts of the country on many occasions. There you see your extended blood relatives on his side. And it was fun.

You graduated university with a proud mother and father by your side. Your aunt–your beloved aunty who you grew up with–and little cousin visiting for an important event in your life too.

Everything was good. You couldn’t ask for more.

You had a miserable life in your childhood, but there were people in it that you loved. Even if your life had been full of hardship outside of your studies, you struggled and survived. You have bad days which were far in between but you were blessed, so thankful for the given chances, for the new beginning.

You still hate your deceased uncle– _good riddance!_ –but you had accepted your childhood as a cornerstone, your backbone. 

You wouldn’t have struggled so much to stand where you were right now if it weren’t for it. You were shaped by the abuse you suffered but you were still here, blessed with a family and friends, and you were so happy to be alive.

You accepted your abuse as something inevitable, a difficult lesson that made you strong. A foothold that had strengthened your mind and heart for your future endeavors.

Thinking back on it, you just wanted to move past it, to not let it hinder you. Because adulthood was a pain in the ass, figuratively.

You had to move out from your nice aunt to your father to look for work. At first, it went well. A bit lonely since it was only the two of you in an apartment. But it was fine as both of you were workaholic anyway.

It just...that was when everything was not going normal.

People said you wouldn’t know a person until you started living with them. And they were right.

You thought you knew your father, that he was a good person. You even lived with him for a few weeks one summer though in a different apartment. But now…

He made your skin crawl again, even though he didn’t touch you–never had actually in those four years you knew him–you felt trapped and unsafe. There was no private room for the both of you; just a big sofa with a couch and low table, no wall separating you and him–only a floral-patterned curtain. He was situated near the hallway leading to the door outside and you were squirreled next to the far wall.

He drinked a lot. He stared a lot at you, bordering unnerving especially without your glasses on. In those instances, you knew who you looked like; your mother.

It made you squirm. Yet you bore through it.

Until you noticed the existence of that hole.

It looked more like a peephole really. And located in the wall on the foyer, the place where you change. Even though there was paper jammed on it from the other side. It could be taken off easily without your notice. And the other side was where your father slept and rested.

You didn’t know when it appeared, didn't want to know how long it had been there, but you started fearing him since then. _How could you have been stupid to not notice?_ However, you wanted it to be wrong, just a small unrelated coincidence. Your father wouldn’t peep on you, right?

_Your uncle did though._

Since that discovery, your father made you warrier. You started talking to him with your back on the wall and always covered with a blanket and pillow especially your front and legs. The more skin you hide, the better. You started wearing your bra all the time except when you sleep even though it made you uncomfortable being restricted like this.

You started getting short-tempered with him, unable to keep a conversation with him. Just wanting him to be gone.

To add salt on the wound. Looking at him reminded you of that incident when you were startled awake at night with a shout. Waking up with saliva damped wet cheek that you couldn’t sleep well anymore unless you were tucked under your blanket from head to toe. And even then, you were filled with fear that he would yank it off with you unaware.

That kiss on the cheek...you read on the internet that it was supposed to be a sweet gesture but it only heightened your nerves.

_Why would he do that? He never does it. What is different?_

Yet you continued living with him for two years. But in those two years, accidental incidents happened and always at night. Through all of that you felt like you had left a hellhole for a new one.

You tried to rationalize those incidents, that it was only an accident, nothing more, only a loving father to his daughter. But that last scenario...made you eventually snap.

On the night of your birthday, you were startled awake with him hovering. In retaliation, you had physically assaulted him.

_You have to leave soon or else..._

You immediately filed for work resignation, citing you wanted more avenues for your career growth and went job hunting as you waited for it to be finalized.

Which was bullshit as you needed more salary than they could offer. It had to be enough for renting a small cheap room. It didn’t need to be on the high end. It could be in the dreary area as long as it was near your next job location. You didn’t need the luxury of a kitchen. Even if the place would be a shared lavatory that only ran cold water.

All you wanted was to get away from your perverted creepy father.

Your father was not to be trusted and you couldn’t help but hate him. Four years of thinking and seeing that he was a good person, only to be shattered with the reality that he wasn’t.

_You could have been wrong too._

He only kissed your cheeks in the middle of the night, twice or thrice or even more but it was those times you woke up. He accidentally touched and pulled your leg, startling you awake probably because he was still drunk. He stood by your feet as you pretended to be asleep and you would eventually shift to feign half-consciousness, prompting him to go back to his bed. He pulled your blanket up from your toes to your stomach and leaned his face down to who knows where. It didn’t change the fact that you felt the prickle of his spiky locks on your navel.

It only took you a moment to realize a ticklish sensation on your bare skin before you double drop-kicked him in the face and stomach for startling you awake.

Still you couldn’t chance it. _Definitely couldn’t after it._

You looked too much like your mother that people think both of you were siblings. And you couldn’t, didn’t want to know anymore, didn’t want to chance that he could and would do more to you. You knew his sex life was abysmal seeing that he was workaholic but you also knew that he still love your mother even though it was his fault she left and took you away from him when you were six.

You couldn’t chance that he wouldn’t use you like your uncle especially when he was drunk, unknowing of his surroundings and looking like a lovestruck shitty person when he looked at you.

You couldn’t live anymore with him, because it hurt to think that your trust was broken once again. And you, if he really eventually did it to you, you would accept it, relish on it even, while fearing and feeling disgusted at the same time. Because early on those two years, your mind and sexual urges couldn’t help but think and feel committing a taboo was alright, that you wouldn’t mind if he screwed you senseless especially when he kissed you that first time.

You left without a confrontation even when you pictured in your mind that you would shame him in public after that last stunt. You couldn’t do that to him.

You left without an explanation or indication of your plan. You left on a Saturday afternoon with a duffel bag, excuse of a vacation slipping from your lips with ease towards the guard that your father was friends with. Eventually you messaged him that you were going to live alone on your own.

You avoided confrontation like you always did in your life. You ran.

You had always been a coward, in the situation where your decision matters you couldn’t do it. You balk at the idea of confrontation because deep in your heart you didn’t want to inflict conflict to your family even if you had to continue hiding.

 _You are useless, really useless._ You were a coward, who couldn’t even confront your past. You thought you accepted it but on your bad days you get swallowed by it. You let your thoughts be consumed by it. You tried to let go by accepting it but it didn’t help you at all. You only numbed yourself from it. You ran away from your father instead of communicating with him. _You always run away from your problems._

There wouldn’t be any problem if only you killed yourself!

That’s why go ahead. _Do it._ But before that, hurt yourself first. Because if everything became too much then maybe finally, finally you could find peace.

_Ruin yourself._

But this time, it was because you choose to.

You had a choice, you were given a choice on how to ruin yourself.

_Aren’t you tired from living?_

Beside you had no goal, nor a dream for a future. You’re just a dead weight.

 _See?_ Even now you were not moving, you were just being lead on. Just like always, just like it always had been. Your uncle really did like you compliant in his arms.

_Haha. Ha._

You couldn’t help but sardonically laugh inside your mind. You only realized now that you weren’t given a choice to refuse. Because you were too caught up by your thoughts, by your musing. You were held by the wrist, a hand on your mouth muffling any noise you made and he let go of both. And—

_Ow..._

This pain you knew very well, the feeling of forceful intrusion and breaking and burning. It came. There was a breathless gasp, while a tangy taste of skin and hot exhale pressed on your trembling lips. You breathed on his large and sweaty hand as your small limb clutched on your abuser’s arm.

He remained buried but unmoving and maybe this was his form of mercy.

Yet, you need no mercy as this pain was everything you deserved and more.

Eventually, your breathing calmed. Your body got used to it fast that you automatically let go and he as well.

You looked sideways, seeing the much interesting floor, feeling the cool pressure of it on your back that made the shiver through your whole body.

You were unmoving and silent, like a used toy-doll with it’s unlooking eyes.

_You are useless. You are a slut. You are only a good fuck. You are a simple disposable toy to be used, paid and discarded._

A hand seized your chin and you looked forward. His grinning face stared at you, he was sweaty and his breath labored whilst his hips moved.

Your uncle and father didn’t look alike at all but the way they grin stupidly was almost the same.

_Who are they seeing when they look at you?_

He trailed his calloused hand down your neck to your flat chest, nicked a nipple for a little bit, venturing to your stomach then to your hips in a ticklish manner before he was buckling forward with a forceful thrust that you couldn’t help but painfully gasp.

Your hands were late enough that instead of it muffling your mouth, it was large big lips on you, almost eating your whole mouth that instinctively you tried to wiggle your way out.

 _No_. Your first kiss in both lifetimes. Taken now by him of all people.

Another first taken from you. _What is it going to be next? Pregnancy?_

You couldn’t let it reach that. You would kill him before that or die trying.

He finally pulled his hand and you were rubbing your lips on the back of your hand and your arms, trying and failing to rub off the saliva that had gotten to you.

You felt him stiffen and jerk inside you and it was over.

Suddenly feeling lethargic and queasy on your stomach, and sore in the wrong places. You... You didn’t remember him being this rough to you or...—you rubbed your nose to prevent a sneeze about to erupt.

He was rough like this, you only didn’t want to remember and now you did, second hand even.

You tried to get up but he stopped you by your knees and when you looked down, you saw him cleaning you.

It would be bad if you spilled more on the floor.

When it was over, after you were cleaned and helped up. You stood there shakily on your knees, unknowing what to do before he pulled you towards the comfort room. Pushed you to the toilet seat and you were overcome by the urge to pee.

However, peeing made you wince, your fingers curling on your palm as every excretion seemed like something sharp was being sliced inside you.

He was too rough that he had rubbed you sore down there.

 _This bastard_. To think and know that you had been in pain for more years to come. Just what kind of fucked up person was he to continue such an incestious and sinful act when he would eventually have a baby daughter?

And you were really a weak sentimental idiot because you had chosen to be silent and not fought back.

_You should have done many things instead of cowering in fear back then._

He wasn’t even good with his manly bits all he knew was to relieve his own self. No consideration of the other party! Really so self-centered prick that should be pushed to hell.

After it was done, you got up or tried to as he still had his hand on your legs. You looked at him in confusion and he only chuckled and said. “Wait,” before he was moving and washing your private area, your stomach churning.

This man had no shame at all as he continued smiling pleasantly.

Then he was cleaning with the use of his tongue. His slick saliva rubbing circles around and finally focusing on your slit. All the while your knees still felt like jell-o.

You took a shuddering breath or you might lose your shit, forget what you should do and collapse.

_Remember your goal. With your own hands you could..._

You reminded yourself, your small hand curling onto itself as you felt his prickly stubble against yours and his hand snaking on the underside of your thigh. You puffed a breathy exhale through it.

_This is your chance._

With heart thudding against your ribcage, knees weakening as he supported you, lips trembling from revulsion and anxiety and everything else mixed in. You still opened your mouth.

_...You don’t want to hurt anymore, right?_

You unclenched and raised your shaky hands atop his hair.

_Then don’t hesitate!_

As if you were wrenching words from your constricted clogged throat, you still stuttered your damning words with stinging eyes, your gateway to hell.

“U-Uncle...it felt ticklish…"

As if invigorated by your voice he nibbled on your private bud, his teeth grazing at it in a playful manner.

Considering how sensitive you still were, you couldn’t help but gasp and bury your fingers on his spiky grey hair.

He paused and looked up at you with a pleased smile. You didn’t want to know the reason for that but it sent a revolting shiver on your spine.

“Do you like it when I do that?” he asked and you peered at him with confusion, lips marred into a frown.

_No._

Your mind supplied.

_Yes._

Your inaction to get away said otherwise.

He didn’t wait for your response as he suckled and licked, his eyes staring up at you and you were hit with the urge to excrete that your body spasmed against your will; both from pain and bodily fluid.

_You deserve this hurt._

That’s right. You should do it, inflict more pain, be more hopeless.

“U-Uncle, o-one more?” you finally squeaked between laboured breath.

He was oozing smug satisfaction in response, that he pulled you up and made you sit up on the toilet seat, your back and head pressed on the cold tiles.

He raised your legs apart and firm hands held your ankle above, making his action known. As an automatic response your mouth was forming a _no_ that you swallowed down.

“P-Please.” _Damn yourself_.

It went easier this time.

_And then..._

**.**

**.**

**.**

Small tanned hands shakily held a too big cleaver and with a breathy exhale; you plunged.

Splatter of metallic red, grunting and gurgling that soon died with more thrusts ruined your dainty dress.

The night was silent aside from your heavy exhausted breathing until it broke with hysterical laughter and lamenting sobs that tore past your throat.

**_“AaAaaAAaAaaAHhHhhhH!!!”_ **

The noise drew attention but it was abruptly gone; cut off suddenly like a broken unusable stereo.

The staunch bleeding below you grew into a warm puddle soaking your knees and feet but you still had your hands and knife on a chest. Everything felt sticky and revolting and warm as it soaked through your skin like an itch that you couldn’t stand it. Despite seeing blurry black and red and tears, you haunched your shoulder–sobbed and hiccupped, then plunged once again; carving and carving until it became a macabre hole.

You couldn’t hear anything only the thumping of a heart loudly beating next to your ears.

You carved even with your arms growing numb and weak, even when you couldn’t see any other sight other than the mess you had created.

Then you stilled as laughter burst from your throat that your other hand let go of the weapon to clutch at your aching stomach. A hand that clenched at the unnoticeable bulge that if given a chance would grow with time.

Your thoughts were dangerously blank aside from the laughter ringing on it with increasing clarity that you violently scrubbed your face with soaked arms to rid of tears and snot. Yet it did the opposite and smeared more of the rusty substance over you.

There were incessant buzzing noises you could distantly hear; like mere bugs that soon disappeared from your attention altogether.

 _You’re exhausted_. A deep exhaustion that seeped and consumed your mind and heart, that settled on your body and bones as a whole that you couldn’t get out.

And you still moved your hand, positioning the knife toward your stomach–face etched with distaste and self-loathing at it–before you attacked your own self with viciousness and hopeless acceptance.

You didn’t hear anything; the frightful screaming of your cousin–wanting to come closer but held down by your grandmother, or the hysterical voice of your grandmother over the phone while failing to calm down the girl in her arms, nor the wailed noises of your aunt as she frightfully and slowly inched closer to stop you to screaming your name as she made a mad dash towards you after the last blow.

You didn’t hear any of it.

However, what you did hear was the ringing silence and then your own flickering thoughts as you slump forward; burying the weapon deeper inside you.

Your bloody lips formed a small upward tilt to shape an expression–a parody of acceptance or perhaps wry amusement as you succumbed to the darkness.

_Fi...na...lly... It’s...over..._

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**“I have new ideas to ruin my life.”** _

**Author's Note:**

> Do not forget to be kind to everyone. 
> 
> Kindness is a virtue that is lessening with time. And if you suspect or know something like this going on in your community, in your household or anywhere please do not waste your time before it is too late. Go to the nearest authority to report, or reach out to social media, or drag the inhumane person through the mud if you have to. And if you fear for any retaliation against you and the victim where you can’t do anything to remove them in that hellish environment or afraid that no one could help, listening and trying to be there for them is okay too. But know that you need to make a drastic decision too. Asking for help is a good start even if it is mighty difficult to do. Because no one should be treated this way. **_No one at all and may those criminals rot in prison and hell._**
> 
> For anyone out there that is suffering and dealing with a heavy burden. For all it’s worth, I would not say any toxic positivity as I know that life is not kind and fair, all I could say is, if you want a break from everything, running away is an option too. _But do not forget that your life is yours, no one else, and it is yours for keeping ~~or squandering~~. Do what you think is for your best interest and continue living if not for yourself, then for others._
> 
> Lastly, kindly tell me what you think of this oneshot, okay? This is my first time publishing an original work. Experimental it might be, I would still love any kind of feedback.


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